


Being Scorched By You

by PinkGloom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, BAMF!John, BAMF!Mary, Bank Robbery, Cattle ranching, Civil War era, Coroner Sherlock, Crossdressing Sherlock, Deputy John, Friends to Lovers, It's an experiment with a corset, M/M, Minor Character Death, Saloons, Sheriff Lestrade, Shoot-outs at high noon, Western AU, alternative universe, lots of horses and drinking, some kind of sexy times but what I'm not sure yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGloom/pseuds/PinkGloom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Western AU<br/>30 Day OTP Challenge.<br/>John accepts an ad to be the new doctor in the small Western town of White Gulch. He soon finds himself the new deputy and roommate to the town's coroner and saloon owner, Sherlock Holmes. When local cattle rancher Moriarty starts to cause trouble and a murder happens, John and Sherlock barely have time to investigate the bank robbery in between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One: Holding Hands

John Watson M.D. and ex-civil war officer looked at the small one horse town that he was now going to call home. 

After they had patched up his shoulder, John had been on bed rest for six months and during that time the war had come to an end. John had been discharged and he had gone back to his home, but found it too hard to stay, haunted by many memories, and the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again. Suddenly, John hated the crowds of faceless people, even though it was all he had ever known before the war. 

So he had packed up his meager possessions and had decided to head West, to Montana. His journey had landed him in White Gulch. Exactly the small quiet town his tired body needed. John had seen an ad in the newspaper advertising for a town doctor a month before and he hand’t been able to send the telegram fast enough. 

The ride there in the stage coach had been unpleasant and bumpy but it finally got him away from all the ‘are you a blue or gray’ nonsense. Out West, much of the political mess mattered little and that was how John liked it. 

He had never agreed with slavery and so he had fought; thankfully on the winning side. Thoughts of the war brought a tremor through John’s hand. He clinched his fingers and flexed them. John stepped out of the stage coach and took a deep breath of fresh air. Tightening the grip on his cane, John made his way to the sheriff’s office. 

“Hello. Anyone in?” John knocked on the door as he made his way into the small building. 

“Ya, come on in.” 

John finished opening the door and wiped his boots on the rough welcome mat. He made his way inside to be greeted by a man with premature graying hair. He gave John a toothy smile and extended his hand in invitation. 

“Howdy. Gregory Lestrade. The sheriff of this town. Who might you be?” 

John let go of the Sheriff’s hand to reach for his bowler in greeting. “John Watson. I’m the doctor that answered your ad.” 

“Doctor Watson. It is a pleasure to have you at our sleepy frontier town. How do you feel about being deputy?” Sheriff Lestrade smiled again. Although this time it looked strained but also hopeful. 

“Deputy? Surely you don’t want a man with a limp as your acting deputy?” John tapped his cane on the floor to prove his point. 

“Yeah, I know. It’s just that the alternative is less than...Well, let’s just way I would take a man with a limp and not a-”

Sheriff Lestrade was cut short as the door flew open and a lanky man with curly black hair came storming into the small office. 

“Lestrade, I can’t believe you are allowing that fool of a man to be the deputy! He’s not fit for the job and who are you?” The man cut off his rant to stare hard at John. 

John shifted uncomfortable. “John Watson-” 

“Ah, yes the new Doctor.” The man waved his hand dismissively and went back to talking to the Sheriff. “You can’t seriously be thinking about making Anderson the new deputy. Although I would love to see him get shot by bandits or cattle thieves, he is going to cause a huge mess before anyone actually had the decency to kill him.”

“Holmes, you can’t go around saying things like that. And before you rudely interrupted, I was in the middle of asking the Doctor if he would like to be the new deputy.” Sheriff Lestrade cocked his head at John. 

John raised one hand in defense. “And I was just saying that as a man with a limp, I can’t possibly be the deputy.” 

The other man rolled his eyes. “Please. It’s all in your head anyway. You’d be fine.” He placed his hand on his chin and eyed John. Suddenly John felt hot under his collar. “Yes, I believe you are an agreeable substitute. Lestrade, make the Doctor your new deputy.” 

“Wait, wait! You can’t agree for me! Who the hell are you?” John clenched his teeth. 

“Oh, forgive me. I’m Sherlock Holmes. I own the only saloon in town, I am the coroner and I dabble in chemistry.” Instead of offering a hand, Mr. Holmes grabbed John’s scar covered shoulder and squeezed hard. 

John’s cane dropped from his hand and his eyes widened as pain shot through his shoulder like red hot irons. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” 

“I didn’t think it was the leg.” Mr. Holmes eyed him and then dipped down to grab John’s fallen cane. John snatched it from his outstretched hand. He refused to thank him. 

“Damn my leg! What right do you have to comment on it?!” John shouted. He invaded Mr. Holmes personal space ready to give the bastard a piece of his mind; preferably with his fist. 

Sheriff Lestrade put his hands up and stepped between the two of them. “Now, now. Please, gentlemen. I would hate to lock you up for fighting. How about we get you all settled in Doc.” 

“He will be doing no such thing.” Mr. Holmes straightened up and looked down at John from his nose. 

“I’m not?” John bit back the snarky remark he wanted to add. He was tired and all he wanted to do was rest...and not in a jail cell. 

“The rooms that Donovan rent out are deplorable, especially for a doctor and a man returned from the war. You shall stay with me above the saloon.” Mr. Holmes crossed his arms and his tone was final. 

“Oh, really? You’ve decided this for me?” John shifted his weight. Rubbing at his shoulder, he tried to dull the shooting pain the lingered from Mr. Holmes grabbing it so roughly. If John didn’t care to admit to himself, but for a moment the pain in his leg had disappeared. John rubbed at his shoulder harder. 

“Yes, I have. It is the logical conclusion. I will need assistance with autopsies and there is a back room that can second as a doctor’s waiting room. The accommodations are by far the most comfortable and convenient.” 

John licked his lips and weighted his options. Mr. Holmes was certainly a brass man but there was a certain appeal about sharing a room with him instead of keeping a cramped room alone. After being wounded and sent home, he had spent too many hours alone and with his thoughts. Mr. Holmes was going to be a trying roommate but for some unexplainable reason, John welcomed the challenge. Life had been so intolerably dull lately. And although dull had been exactly what he thought he needed, the sane part of his brain couldn’t win over the part that still craved adeline. 

“Fine. Fine, I will.” John said and tried his best to smile at Mr.Holmes; even though he still wanted to deck the man. 

The answering look Mr. Holmes’s gave had his face lighting up and his eyes crinkled at the sides, making him look boyish. John’s heartbeat picked up and his throat grew dry. God, he looks like a different man when he smiles. 

The Sheriff eyed them both suspiciously and then turning back to raise his an eyebrow at John in silent question. The ‘are you really sure you want to do this?’ was just as clear as if he had spoken it. 

“I’m sure if Mr. Holmes finds my company intolerable, I will still be able to move into another room.” John gave his best reassuring look. 

“Nonsense.” Mr. Holmes waved his hand and walked past Sheriff Lestrade. He extended a hand. “Please, do call me Sherlock. No reason to be so formal.” 

“I suppose not.” 

They shook hands and held on a beat too long. Sherlock’s fingers were long and practically engulfed his. John’s fingers were short and stubby and the callouses roughed over Sherlock’s smooth skin. Despite the summer sun, John saw for the first time just how pale Sherlock was when compared next to his bronze-tanned skin. 

“Come along, John.” Sherlock offered no other words as he swirled his coat and made his way out.

John turned to the Sheriff. “Is he always like that?” 

“No. Normally he’s worse.” He tipped his hat. 

John fought the urge to let out a manic laugh. What had he gotten himself into?


	2. Day Two: Cuddling Somewhere

Sherlock rode his horse back to the saloon and John took the stage coach. John laid back in his seat as the driver followed Sherlock. 

More excitement had happened to him in the last half an hour than the last seven months. John had no idea what he had just gotten himself into but it certainly was going to be a lot more interesting than staying in New York and living off his army pension. 

John thought about the strange man, Sherlock Holmes. He hadn’t expected to met anyone British but Sherlock’s accent didn’t have an American twang at all. John’s accent was slightly British but only because his parents had been first generation immigrants. 

Sherlock sounded as if he had been raised in England. Which left John wondering how the hell a rich British gentlemen had ended up in the Wild West. Especially in an unassuming town like White Gulch. I wonder if he’s running from the British government..Many man had taken refuge in America, it made sense that Sherlock could be one of them. 

John’s thoughts began to linger towards the physical appearance of the town coroner and saloon owner. His hair was ridiculously black and curly- he hadn’t been wearing a hat and the mess of curls went in every direction. His coat tails were long and his suit was pressed so stiff there wasn’t a single wrinkle. The suit was black and fit him like a glove. John’s eyes glossed over as he remembered the pale skin that had peeked out at Sherlock’s cuffs. 

John licked his lips absentmindedly as he thought about how pale Sherlock would be under his suit. Before John could chastise himself for his laud thoughts, the stage coach stopped and knocked him out of his introspection. He stepped out and stared up at the building before him, was quite impressive. 

It was newer than most of the buildings and it was rather large. The sign said SALOON and John laughed. Of course, Sherlock wouldn’t feel the need to name his saloon a silly name when the literal word would work just fine. 

Sherlock tied his horse off and walked back over to John. “Get your luggage and come along, John.” 

For a ridiculous moment, John thought of barking. Sherlock was certainly ordering him around like he was a dog. 

The driver unlatched the luggage from the coach’s roof and placed the three large pieces luggage on the ground. John clutched his carpet bag. “Thank you. I can take it from here.” He really couldn’t but he refused to ask for help, being stubborn and crippled really wasn’t the best combination. 

The driver gave John a long look before tipping his hat back and nodding. “Best of luck to you.” He jumped back up into his seat and with a click of his tongue the horses took off. John sighed and took the handle of one traveling trunk to drag it up the stairs.  
With a heave, he managed to bring the first piece inside. Sherlock head darted up from a stack of newspaper clippings on one of his many tables. “Ah, yes. You can stay in the room upstairs. It’s a small room with a balcony, you should find to your liking.” 

Before he could think better of it, John groaned and sat on his trunk. “I have to go up more stairs?” 

Sherlock looked back up. “Oh. The limp. Yes, yes. I’ll go get the other pieces of luggage. I’m sure you can get that one.” 

“I can get them all, thank you.” John stood up, putting all his weight on his cane. 

Sherlock waved his hand. “Don’t be stubborn. It may be in your head but it is obviously paining you and your shoulder...” 

Without another word, Sherlock went downstairs. John looked around the apartment he was now going to call home. It was a messy but in a well-lived in way. There were vials and what looked like a science experiment going on in the kitchen. The whole main sitting room had a distinctive European feel and John thought about the country he had never visited. 

John dragged the luggage up the final flight of stairs. His room was completely bare other than basic furniture. It was a complete opposite from the rest of the apartment. John was tempted to lay down and take a nap but manners over rid it and went downstairs to discuss...well, everything. John still really had no idea what he was supposed to do or even what his new job as town doctor and deputy entitled. 

He went back downstairs to find the rest of his luggage in the sitting room. “John, come here.” 

Sherlock’s voice came from his bedroom and John’s cheeks flared with a surprised blush. John only hesitated a moment longer before walking into Sherlock’s bedroom. Sherlock was standing next to an open closet. 

“I need you to get inside the closet.” Sherlock stated. 

“What?” If possible the day looked as if it was only going to get even stranger. 

“I hate to repeat myself.” Sherlock eyed John and then the closet. With a over dramatic sigh, Sherlock got into the closet. 

There came a sound from downstairs and then someone walking up the stairs. “John, get in!” It was a hiss and he grabbed John’s good shoulder to shove them into the closet together. It was a cramped fit with Sherlock’s impressive suit collection taking up a majority of the space. 

One of Sherlock’s long fingers covered John’s lips in a shushing motion. John swallowed hard and bit down the urge to suck the long, graceful digit into his mouth. God, what have I gotten myself into? John’s entire body started to heat up and he prayed that Sherlock didn’t notice the change in his body temperature. 

There was shuffling in the sitting room and John strained to hear what was going on in the next room. Sherlock apparently wanted to hid from someone,but John couldn’t understand why Sherlock didn’t tell them to ‘bugger off’; he certainly had no trouble telling everyone else exactly what he thought. 

Sherlock shifted and his knee when between John’s legs as he bent down to place his ear on the closet door. John’s back went ridged and he tried to put as much distance between them as possible. It still wasn’t enough. 

Sherlock’s thigh brushed up along his inner thigh and John’s breathing became shallow. John tried to suck in a calming breath but all it did was bring the other man’s scent to his attention. Sherlock smelled like cheap gin and there was a chemical smell that John couldn’t place; it was either fluid used with the corpses or his experiments. 

But there was also a underlying manly smell of sweat and musk. John had always been attracted to women, but certain men had a sexual appeal to John too. Apparently Sherlock was one of those men. John tried to move away and all Sherlock seemed to do was invade his space even more. Sherlock appeared to be completely oblivious to the discomfort John was experiencing. 

“We know you’re here Sherlock Holmes! Just know that Mr. Moriarty sends his regards and think twice before you stick your nose were it doesn’t belong!” A man’s voiced bellowed. 

John gasped and Sherlock’s arms wrapped around him. John’s eyes went wide and his arms fell around Sherlock’s body in reflex. They held onto each other until the front door was slammed shut. After what seemed like an eternity, Sherlock untangled his arms from around John and opened the closet door. 

“What was that all about?” John asked while stumbling out of the closet. 

“It appears that there is more to that bank robbery.” Sherlock adjusted his jacket and cuffs. 

“There was a bank robbery?” John could barely believe that there was worth anything stealing in such a small town. 

Sherlock gave him another long suffering look. “Do keep up. We need a new deputy. Why do you suppose that is?” 

“Your last deputy was killed?” So much for being a sleepy frontier town. 

“Obviously.” Sherlock brushed over his suit front then walked out of his room and towards the front door. 

“Where are you going?” John followed behind in the other man’s wake. 

“To the bank.” Sherlock halted at the door and turned to look at John over his shoulder. “You are the new deputy.” Stepping away from the door Sherlock walked towards John, crowding in just a little too close. 

“You were in the war and a surgeon too.” Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. 

“Yes, yes I was.” John’s tongue flicked out from nervousness. Sherlock’s gaze dipped down to look at it. John quickly brought it back into his mouth. It was uncomfortable being scrutinized by such a knowing look. John felt as if his soul was being bared before the other man. 

“I promise you won’t be disappointed.” Sherlock’s voice dropped and it sounded like he was offering John something far more seductive than just a trip to the bank. 

“God, I’m sure I won’t be.” John had never been so certain of anything in his entire life. If Sherlock was there, John had an odd suspicion that he would never be left wanting. 

Sherlock smirked and walked through the door. As was becoming his custom, John trailed close behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That totally counted as cuddling, right? right??


	3. Day Three: Gaming/Watching a Movie

 

 

 

"You have some questions." Sherlock said.

"Now that you mention it, I have no idea what is expected of me or what my duties are as doctor or deputy." John was tempted to stare straight ahead but he had sure to look all around him. He had been too lost in thoughts to see the town on the way to Sherlock's place and now he was taking it all in.

"We'll visit Lestrade. I'm sure he can help answer any questions you may have." Sherlock could probably answer them, John knew he just didn't want to be bothered with it.

It was a smaller town, but not a small as John had first assumed. There was a saloon, bank and other amenities. There were townsfolk going about their business. Some of them tipped their hats and others eyed them wearily. John was confused by the mixed messages.

"They're looking at me, not you." Sherlock's voice was stiff.

"Um?"

"I'm not exactly well liked in White Gulch. In fact, I believe the only reason they do not throw me out is because I am the only one who can supply the town with a constant supply of liquor." Sherlock tried to keep his voice even but John could still hear the underlying bitterness.

"How long have you been here?" John asked changing the subject.

"A year or two." Sherlock smirked. He could give John the exact day most likely, he just didn't care too. "How about you, John? What made you leave you leave your family home and alcoholic brother?"

John stopped dead in his tracks. "I assumed you knew I was a doctor was because word travels fast in small towns. But I have told  _no one_ about my brother or my reasons for coming here."

"No one told me, I saw." A mask slipped back over Sherlock's face. The cold expression that John had seen when he had first met the man was in place. John hadn't realized there was a difference until he had seen the two. The cold look wasn't to John's liking at all.

"Did you work at a side show? Or with a mystic?" John regretted the words as soon as they had left his mouth.

"It's not a game. I observed, I deducted and then I told you." Sherlock sniffed and his lips turned down in a mild scowl.

"How?"

"Your watch. When you checked the time, I observed the sides and saw the scratches on it. When your brother went to turn it every night his hand was shaking from his tremors. Although you have tremors as well, they are completely unrelated. Your luggage also tells me that you have never lived on your own, therefore family home. Your possessions are few and only personal." Sherlock's eyes lit up as he explained his deductions.

"Did you go through my things?" John tried to keep his tone light but he was tipping on the edge of anger again.

"No, I didn't peak through your belongings. I merely examined the luggage itself. Like your watch, it was owned by other person in your family, pointing to the fact that you have never moved before. You did when you joined the army, but that was another matter completely."

"But how do you know I just didn't want to see more of the world?" For some reason, John needed to know more. How this amazing man before him was becoming even more fantastic with every question answered.

"Why come all the way to White Gulch? Instead of just traveling? Your family has the money. No, you wanted to get away as far as possible; so bad relations. You are a war hero just come home and yet you don't stay with your family...That's more than just not wanting to see your family for a few weeks, you didn't see them for a few years while you were fighting-"

There was a beat between them while John tried to process it all. Once Sherlock had laid it all out it seemed so simple. But there was something elegant with the way he had connected it all. Sherlock may not understand human relations when it pertained to him but he certainly understood the motives of others.

"That was...extraordinary." John nodded, affirming his own words.

"What?" Sherlock sounded honestly surprised.

"That was fantastic. I can't believe you were able to connect all that. Quite extraordinary." John made no effort to keep the wonder and awe out of his voice. He truly was astounded. No one had ever been able to put it so simply and hearing it put so made John relieved that he wouldn't have to explain why he had left a comfortable family home behind to live out West.

"That's not what people normally say." Sherlock's brow wrinkled and he frowned again. He sounded uncertain still that John's words were true.

Something in John's chest hurt at the thought of any one demeaning such an amazing gift. "What do they normally say?"

"Nothing I can repeat in polite company." Sherlock smiled slightly and it warmed John's heart.

They continued to walk in silence for a few moments before John got an idea. He was sure Sherlock was going to hate it but he had to ask anyway.

"Tell about the people we're passing." John said.

Sherlock tilted his head and then said, "That's Mike, he works occasionally as the Vicar and knows a little about medicine."

John laughed. "No.  _Tell_ me about them."

Sherlock looked over at John. He screwed up his eyebrows. "You mean deduce them?"

John looked up at Sherlock and offered a sneaky smile. "Yes, exactly that. I know your 'powers' aren't just for reasoning and I would love to hear more than just the local gossip."

"You mean make a game out of my deducing skills?" Sherlock sounded intrigued.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm proposing."

Sherlock turned back to look before him and said nothing. Before John could apologize, Sherlock said, "That's Anderson. He and Donovan are having an affair. Anderson has a wife in Montana...and I believe another in California."

John smiled wide. "How?"

"How?" Sherlock echoed.

"I must admit that I love hearing the conclusion but I also want to know how you got there."

"You want me to explain my thought process?" Sherlock asked.

"That is half the game. Seeing if I can trip you up."

"You think very highly of yourself, John." Sherlock sounded pleased.

"No more than the average man." John flexed out his fingers. He thought it was the beginnings of another tremor but his fingers had just gotten stiff.  _That's strange._ The tremors usually came with regularity but now they were absent. He hadn't experienced a single one since he had met Sherlock.

"He mails percentages of his paycheck to different cities."

"Um?" John blinked.

"Anderson. It's not one location and therefore it must be a wife...and children." Sherlock let out a satisfied huff. "In addition, he refuses to talk to anyone about whether or not he has children or if he has been married before. He could lie, but he's not intelligent enough to keep all his 'facts' straight."

"You like the idea that he has to send his pay away, don't you?"

Sherlock didn't answer and instead just looked at John with an expression of complete innocence. John laughed harder than he had in years.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm bending the rules some...


	4. Day Four: On a Date

John stared at the crumbling building White Gulch called their bank. It was white washed and like Sherlock's saloon, the building simply stated what it was and nothing more. There were a few horses tied to hitching post and John would never have guessed that there had been a shot out there just a few days before.

Sherlock surveyed the exterior for a moment before walking up the two steps to the entrance of the building. Sure enough, there were only a few patrons lined up and one bank teller. Sherlock ignored the line and stepped up to the desk.

"Sebastian, I need access to the vault." Sherlock sounded as if he hated just asking for that much.

Sebastian gave Sherlock a look that said he had had to deal with Sherlock on more than one occasion. "Mr. Holmes, as I've already stated before, I cannot just  _give_ you access to the vault."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "This is John Watson. He is the new town doctor and also the deputy. As such, he is the law and therefore provided complete access to every part of the bank."

Sebastian turned his attention to John. "Is that true?"

John gave the bank teller a reassuring smile. "Although I have yet to receive an official orders, I believe I am. I would really take kindly to you allowing us to look at the vault. I promise nothing will be disturbed and we will leave it as we found it."

Sherlock gave John a sour look- John chose to ignore it. Sebastian sighed. The people in line were growing restless and he didn't have the time to argue. "Fine, fine. Just leave everything the way you found it." Sebastian looked at John pleadingly. John tipped his hat in silent promise to make Sherlock behaved.

Once they entered the back room, John asked, "Why are you doing this anyway? What do you have to gain from it?"

Sherlock was already on his hands and knees, magnifying glass in hand. "Because there is nothing else to do in this god forsaken town and if Moriarty doesn't want me investigate it, then there must be something here."

"Moriarty? That was the guy who came barging into the house?" John realized a moment later that he was already calling the apartment 'home'. It had just felt like it when he first stepped inside it's doors.

"Yes, he and his father are the owners of the largest cattle ranches and they control most of the land in these parts. I've met him, the son, a few times, and each time it has been rather...unpleasant." Sherlock continued to examine the room with attention to every detail. John stood in a corner and tried not to get in the way.

John spotted a washed out red stain on the floor and it made his stomach lurch.  _I suppose this is where the last deputy met his maker._ He was really going to have to talk to the Sheriff and have his deputy status given to someone else.

Allowing his gaze to wonder, John spotted a cigarette butt in a dusty corner. Sherlock was busy mumbling under his breath, so deciding not to disturb him, John went to go check the abandoned butt.

John picked it up and rolled it between his fingers.  _I'm not sure if I should feel stupid or if I'm trying to hard. Is that lipstick..._

"What do you have there?"

John jumped at the closeness of Sherlock's mouth next to his ear. He almost smushed the butt in between his fingers but instead he just dropped it into his open palm. "Jesus! Sherlock you can't do that."

Sherlock ignored him. "Why do you have that?"

"It's nothing...I was just-"

Grabbing John's wrist, Sherlock stared at the cigarette butt. "John, where did you find this?"

John was tempted to lace his answer with sarcasm but Sherlock sounded strangely serious. "It was over there; in the corner. Sorry, it just seemed strange."

"Let me see it." Sherlock stretched out his hand and John tipped the butt into it.

Sherlock rolled the small object around his palm and John stared at the floor. He really didn't feel like being told he was an idiot. He had a feeling Sherlock said it often and to whoever he felt like saying it too.

John's attention was only brought back to the present from a sharp intake of breath from the other man. Sherlock looked as if he had turned into a statue and he stared at the butt with an unblinking glare.

John was tempted to put his hand of Sherlock's shoulder. Realizing it was more than likely a bad idea, he settled for clearing his throat. When that failed to catch Sherlock's attention, John stood at parade rest and stared off into space. He needed time to contemplate all that had transpired and this afforded him an unexpected (but not unwelcome) opportunity to digest what had happened to him.

After what could have been ten seconds to ten minutes, Sherlock's head jerked up. "Oh!" He blinked rapidly and without a single word to John, Sherlock proceeded to walk out of the vault and towards the teller area. With a single head shake towards Sebastian, John shadowed Sherlock's steps out of the bank.

They made their way to the Sheriff's office and John was silently thankful that he would see a friendly and familiar face again. Sherlock leaped up the steps and flung the rickety door open.

"Lestrade! Once again you and your men have proven their incompetence!"

Said Sheriff had his boot clad feet on the desk and was taking a late afternoon nap. He raised his hat off of his face and wiped the sleep from one eye. "What now, Sherlock? What could it  _possible_ be now?" He sounded irritated but in the same token oddly interested.

"This!" Sherlock held the small butt up with the lipstick stain.

"Thank you for doing your part to keep White Gulch clean." Sheriff Lestrade took his legs off of the desk and tried to take a more profession air despite his obvious sarcasm.

"Can't you tell what this is? What significance this holds?" Sherlock sounded as if he was speaking to a slow child.

"Where did you even find that? What has it got to do with anything?" The Sheriff stood up and stretched. He cracked his knuckles and walked out from behind the desk.

Sherlock opened his mouth and then swiftly closed it. He turned to John and looked at him as if he had forgotten that the man was even there. "I didn't find it. John did." As Sherlock said the words, John could hear the gears in the other man's mind moving.  _The ass really did forget I was here._

"John found it?" He glanced between the both of them and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Yes, we were at the vault and John brought it to my attention." Although Sherlock was addressing the Sheriff, his gaze never left John's face. John had the urge to look away but his eyes couldn't stray from the intense way Sherlock was looking at him.

"Really? You brought the Doctor with you to look for evidence?" A smile started to creep over the Sheriff's face and it made John warm under the collar. For some reason he was being to feel embarrassed from their simple exchange.

 _What's the big deal? It's not like he took me anywhere illegal or to a brothel._ John's mind was whirling a mile a minute but he wanted to see how the conversation would go without him interrupting, so his mouth stayed firmly closed.

"Sherlock-" There was laughter in Sheriff Lestrade's voice and the smile he had been fighting had spread over his face.

"Don't say another word." Sherlock finally turned away to face the Sheriff and from what little John could see of Sherlock's face he was glaring at the other man; daring him to finish his sentence.

Sheriff Lestrade raised his hands in defeat. "Okay, okay. Fine." He darted his eyes to John for a second before adding, "So, what's so important about this cigarette?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock might not think it's a date, but Lestrade certainly thinks it is >


	5. Day Five: Kissing

"Irene Adler is the one person in this whole town who wears this shade of lipstick." Sherlock stated.

"How do you know that?" John asked before he could censor himself.

Sherlock's mouth thinned and he rolled his eyes. "If it wasn't the shade of lipstick, than it is the unique tobacco that she has imported from England. If not that, then I have also identified two hundred and forty types of tobacco ash and I could verify my findings from that."

John blinked trying to process everything Sherlock had said. "No, I just meant-"

"It doesn't matter what you  _meant,_ John." The words were sarcastic but there was little bit in them.

John nodded once.

"So, what should I be warning you not to do?" The Sheriff tipped his head back and he leaned against his desk.

"I will merely conduct the work that you are incapable of understanding." Sherlock sniffed and adjusted his shirt cuff.

John stared up to heaven.  _Lord, grant us the patience._ Because John has an inkling that that is as humble as Sherlock Holmes gets.

Choosing ignore Sherlock's sharp remark, Sheriff Lestrade used his hands to push himself off of the desk. "I'm not sure how much I'm going to regret this, but here." He went around to the drawers of his desk, opening one. After shifting things around for a moment, he pulled out a silver star and walked over to hand it to John.

The star is unpolished and tarnished.  _At least there aren't any blood stains on it._  It proclaimed, 'Deputy Marshall' and pride swelled John's chest. He hadn't wanted the star before and now he's terrified Sheriff Lestrade will try and take it back; John pinned it hastily to his jacket.

"Don't make me regret that, Doctor."

John only had a slight idea of what he's committing to by taking the small blemished star. Still, the overwhelming weight now on his shoulders made him stand just a little bit straighter.

"We'll keep you informed." John had no idea how he will keep the Sheriff informed about, but informed he will be.

After clearing his throat, Sherlock turned and walked out the door.

John gave the Sheriff a salute before walking out of his office.

Sherlock and John walked together for a few minutes before either of them spoke.

"I know riding a horse will irritate your leg." There was no emotion to what Sherlock said nor was it a question of 'will you be alright with it?'; just simply stating facts.

John didn't answer. There was no need too.

"We can borrow Mike's horse for today, but you are going to need to acquire a horse."

John wasn't sure he could still even ride a horse. It seemed like a minor point, so he just shrugged a shoulder.

John was expecting to jump on the horses when they arrived at the Saloon. Instead, Sherlock bypassed the horses and went upstairs. John limped his way up the stairs. Without a word, Sherlock sat down on the settee and steepled his fingers under his chin.

John blinked and opened his mouth.

"Eat, John. We don't have much time." Sherlock didn't open his eyes.

"Eat?" John felt as if they had been having a conversation and he had missed half of it.

Sherlock opened one eye. "Yes, you're hungry and I don't think we will be back until after dinner."

"What about you?" Suddenly, it became every important for Sherlock to eat something.

"I don't eat during cases," Sherlock shut his eye, ending the conversation.

John bit back a sigh. There was no point in arguing. John walked into the kitchen only to discover nothing there. This time, John did sigh.

"Sherlock, there's nothing in the kitchen to eat." John thumped his cane on the floor.

"There isn't?" Sherlock sounded genuinely surprised.

"No." The irritation in John's voice softened and his anger evaporated to be replaced by concern. "When's the last time you ate?"

"Boring."

"Eating isn't boring, Sherlock. It's essential." John pinched the bridge of his nose.

"If there is The Work, then the rest of it is transport." Sherlock stood up and re-buttoned his jacket. "We can purchase food from Mrs. Hudson."

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"She owns the only general store in town. I need to ask her about the sale of tobacco in the last week anyway."

"Tobacco?" John's eyebrow raised.

"I know. I rarely double check my data." With another step forward, Sherlock was abruptly too close to John.

_Why is he so close? Why does he take up all the air in the room?_

"Wait." John stared, crinkling his eyebrows together. "Do you expect me to really believe that you can solve a robbery from cigarette ash?"

"Your suit was tailored at Hutter and Hurst. It's the newest suit you had made before you went to fight in the War. You never had any tailored after because you didn't want to owe your family anything. Your haircut is the traditional military style, however you're allowing it to grow out, because you didn't want to be identified as a solider. Too many questions, sly comments. You smoked 'The Twin Sisters' but stopped when you came home. There are still yellow marks on your fingers were it stained..." Sherlock's voice pitted off. It was a clear indication that he could continue, that there was even more information he had gathered just from John's physical appearance and clothes, but that he knew what he had said was enough to make John gap at him.

"I could kiss you." The words hang in the air between them and John had never wished more in his entire life that he could shove words back into his mouth and just erase it. All that Sherlock had said was correct and John stood in awe of him.

But Sherlock didn't understand the joke. How could he? He wasn't there when his fellow surgeons had made off color jokes late one evening after drinking too much moonshine. It had been a horrible night. So many men had died or where in the throes of death and for a moment, just a second in time, they needed to loss themselves.

Naturally, it had been in alcohol.

They talked about their surgeries from the day, but more of the limbs they had had to saw off. One of them, John couldn't remember who, had saved a man's right arm. It had been a miracle; the bullet had shattered bone, the solider should have lost his whole arm, but they had managed to save it. A small victory but a victory nonetheless.

With intoxication loosening their mouths and common sense, one of them had exclaimed, "I could kiss you!" They all had had a good laugh. It had been stupid. It really hadn't been funny. But with stress dissolving from their bodies and surrounded by friends, they had laughed themselves into a mess.

After that, when one of them had managed something extraordinary, they would exclaim the few simple words. It was ridiculous, but it was a way to connect to the good times. The times when people don't have to die and someone achieved the extraordinary.

In the pause of John being lost in memory, Sherlock spoke this own few simple words.

"Why don't you?"

John's tongue darted out of his mouth.  _Does Sherlock know what he's saying? Do I know what I'm saying?_  All the air was gone from his lungs and John couldn't believe he was even contemplating kissing the man before him.

Sherlock didn't so much a blink as he stared at John. Before sanity can tell him otherwise, John dipped forward the small distance it took to kiss Sherlock on the side of his mouth.

It was so fast, John barely had the time to try and process how smooth Sherlock's skin was or how dry his lips were. It was meant to be feather light, playful, most importantly non-committal and that was exactly how John kept it. He regretted it instantly.

John almost formed the words to ask for more before Sherlock's eyelids fluttered shut and he took before John can ask.

Sherlock made sure that his lips are flush to John's; there is no hesitance, uncertainty about this kiss. It was an insistent kiss, even though it took little. Mouths weren't opened and John didn't even feel a hint of tongue.

Even without the added intimacy of open-mouthes and tongues, John felt like he did when Sherlock stared at him- like he's being taken apart. John's arm ached to wrap around the other man, but he fought the urge and lowered it back to his side.

John has no idea what this means or even if it meant anything. John did just met the man, move in with the man- all other thoughts stop as Sherlock's fingers ghost along his collar and barely dipped below to graze knuckles below his jaw.

John resisted the urge to open his mouth. Although his body wanted it, he couldn't take the way that Sherlock might stare at him after they separate. Instead, John settled for letting his whole body light up, the warmth pool in his chest and then burn in his lower abdomen. It's a simmer and John twitched with anticipation.

After another heartbeat, they pulled away from each other. Sherlock opened his eyes; his pupils were wide, his cheeks flushed.

John realized instantly that he could learn to love the look on Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to work around these prompts is so much fun! :D 
> 
> I'm really like my Sherlock and John in this fanfic
> 
> And if you're curious, John may be confused now but he's still a BAMF!


	6. Day Six: Wearing Each Other's Clothes

John was still trying blink the haze out of his eyes when Sherlock backed away and stared awkwardly at him.

"Was that 'not good'?"

John had no idea what the other man was talking about. The warmth crept away and John could see clearly the vulnerable man before him. It was such a stark contrast to the Sherlock who had been stomping around, giving orders and stopped for no one.

"No, no. It's fine. More than fine." John wanted to covey just how perfectly okay this was, how much he wanted it, but he was afraid of scaring Sherlock. He at least settled for making sure that the advance hadn't been unwelcome. John gave Sherlock a warm smile.

"Yes, it was more than fine, wasn't it?" A smile extended to Sherlock's eyes and he bent down to place a peck above John's eye. Sherlock's eyes twinkled and then he turned to bound out the door.

John gruffly cleared his throat. "Wait!"

Sherlock turned back and narrowed his eyes. "What, John?"

"Do you have a hat?" John asked.

"No, why...?" Sherlock drew out the last word and backed away from the door.

"Because your nose is turning red and if we're going to do any riding you should wear a hat. You're too pale for this sun, Sherlock." John pursed his lips. He felt like a nanny but the other man really needed to wear a hat.

"I don't have any hats that are appropriate for this climate or for riding."

John refused to back down. "Then you can borrow one of mine."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "John, really."

"I'm serious. You need to wear a hat." John hobbled over to one of his hat boxes and took out a well-worn wide brimmed hat. "Wear this until you can have a tailored one made for you."

Sherlock looked down at the hat like it had personally offended him. "My God, John. I had no idea you were such a mother hen."

"Just humor me," After another beat, John added, "please."

"If you're going to make me wear that ridiculous excuse for a hat, then you are changing that horrid scarf."

John looked down at the ragged bandana around his need. While it was true that it clashed with his outfit, it was good for wiping sweat and he had owned it for years. Sherlock was right, but what did it matter? "Sherlock, does it really matter?"

"If my reddened skin bothers you then you can change that  _thing._ "

"All my clothes are packed away. You really don't expect me to search through them for a bandana do you?" John asked incredulously.

"No. I'm sure all your 'bandanas' are in similar..." Sherlock motioned with his hand as if there weren't enough words in the English language to describe how offensive the bandana was. "Wear one of mine instead."

"Fine, if it will get you to wear the damned hat."

Sherlock smirked. He bound from the door to his bedroom. He reappeared with a deep blue bandana. It wasn't cotton and John was sure he didn't want to know how much it cost.

"Sherlock, I can't wear this." Even as he said the words, John was untying his bandana and throwing it on a chair.

"Yes, you can. Don't be dramatic." With that Sherlock placed the hat on his head and walked out the front door. John inhaled deeply.  _God, it smells just like him._ John took another deep breath of the welcoming scent before walking out of their apartment.

"Mike calls him 'Trigger'." It was obvious Sherlock held destain for naming animals. After all, it was completely pointless from a logical standpoint.

John placed his hand on Trigger's snout. The horse was a beautiful chestnut colour and slightly shorter than Sherlock's horse. The horse nuzzled into the touch and John instantly didn't mind the pain he was going to be in to be able to sit in a saddle again.

Sherlock was already saddled on his horse and gave John an impatient look. If possible, he looked even more gorgeous on the black powerful horse. It seemed sad that the horse lacked a name.  _I'll call him Lightning._ It was a common name for a horses and Sherlock was sure to hate it. John smiled fondly at the thought.

With a steadying breath, John tried to focus on himself getting on the horse. It was a simple enough action, he had done it hundreds of times before, but never since he had been wounded; never since the leg that had refused to work even though there was nothing wrong with it.

John could sense Sherlock's eyes on him. Frustration pulsated through his veins and made him clench his hands at his sides. Not giving it a second thought, John braced his good leg in the stirrup, put his hand on the horn of the saddle and heaved himself up.

His exhale of breath hissed through his clenched teeth. John was extremely proud that he hadn't screamed. Sherlock didn't say a word and John was happy for it. He placed his cane over the saddle and took the reins. With a click of his tongue, Trigger started a leisurely pace to the main part of town.

The general store was surprisingly large. It looked to be one of the oldest buildings in the White Gulch. A faded sign proclaims home cooked food, stamps and other necessities.

John held his breath as he got off of Trigger. Thankfully, the pain was less then when he had gotten on the horse. He tied the reins on the hitching post. He could smell corn bread and John's body reminded him he had barely eaten all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to rent John Wayne movies, so I can watch them while writing this >


	7. Day Seven: Cosplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am being so loose with these prompts. But I'm having fun so, mah. 
> 
> Leatherstocking Tales. Was popular in the 1850s. Look! I did research. (aka wikipedia) Natty Bumppo was a white man raised by Indians and Chingachgook was his faithful Indian companion. 
> 
> Note on Accents: Sherlock has zero American accent, he is completely British sounding. John has a mix between the two but sounds more ‘city’ then ‘old western’ English. Irene is almost completely English, she changes her accent for who she’s talking too. Mrs. Hudson British but she uses American words. Lestrade totally American...or you can do whatever you want. Mostly for vocabulary word use.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock turned the door handle and a small bell tinkled as the door opened.

"Sherlock, dearie." A friendly older woman popped out from behind some shelves. "Oh, and who are you?"

"I'm Doctor John Watson, ma'am." John raised his hat and offered his most sincere smile.

Mrs. Hudson smiled and her cheeks flushed pink. "You're the new doctor? I was expecting someone older, not that I mind," With a sly look to Sherlock she added, "Not that Sherlock seems to mind either."

Sherlock coughed into this curled hand. "There's no food at the flat and John requires substance before we go to The Velvet Whip."

John opened his mouth to talk about the corn bread, but swiftly looked at Sherlock to ask instead, "The Velvet Whip?"

"Yes, it's where Irene Adler works. She is known as 'The Woman' after all." Sherlock answered in a matter-of-fact voice.

"It's a brothel?" John tried to keep the utter surprise out of his voice.

"Don't be thick. It's a gambling hall too."

"Jesus, Sherlock." John ran a hand over his face in exasperation.  _How am I ever suppose to keep up with this man?_

"Mrs. Hudson, a single serving of your usual will do." Sherlock stated. There was no need to ask because it was obvious that he was going to get what he wanted.

"Only if you promise to eat something. You're all skin and bones. You look like a scarecrow." Mrs. Hudson didn't wait for a reply and bristled to the back room to grab their food.

John hid his grin. He examined the store as he waited for his food. John caught sight of some faded dime novels and he let out a happy gasp. He would recognize 'Leatherstocking Tales' novels anywhere.

He had been blessed to be born into a privileged family. From an early age he had pocket change and with it he would buy a few licorice sticks and either a comic or the latest Western novel. Thinking back, John had always had an interest with cowboys and Indians. Maybe it made sense that that was where he finally found himself.

John had spent many a lazy afternoon pretending to be Natty Bumppo. It had nursed his interest in guns and he had learned to shot at a young age with a cork gun. Once he could knock down most of the lined up empty bottles he used for target practice (and he could grow a decent beard) his father had bought him a long rifle. John had treated it with care and had cleaned it religiously.

John's lips curled up remembering Bumppo's motto "One shot, one kill". John still lived by those words even after all he had seen from the War. John's jaw dropped when he sighted a couple of dusty knives next to the magazines and newspapers.  _No, it can't be..._

"John, hurry along. We're burning daylight." Sherlock called.

The food was delicious and John ate like a man who couldn't remember the last time he had seen food. Mrs. Hudson's cooking was amazing and John had a feeling many of his meals would come from her. What he had learned to cook in the Union army was less than edible. Then again, Sherlock barely touched the delicious feast laid out before them, so maybe he wouldn't notice either way.

"Sherlock! What have you done to the poor Doctor? He's wolfing everything down like he hasn't seen food before!" Mrs. Hudson commented as she ladled another helping of beans on John's plate.

John stabbed for another potato. "Believe me, even if I had just eaten right before I came, I'd  _still_ be eating like this."

Mrs. Hudson laughed and swatted him with her hand. "You flirt," She winked at Sherlock. "You certainly found a keeper."

John choked on his beans. He gasped for breath and reached for his glass of water. Sherlock took his napkin from his lap and placed it on the table. He stood up. "Thank you for the meal. Add it to my tab."

John wolfed down a few more mouth fulls before thanking Mrs. Hudson again for the food.

She gave him a knowing look. "You boys behave yourselves. Be careful."

John wasn't sure if he wanted to blush, deny or just raise his face to the heavens. He settled for just ignoring the innuendo laden look. "Thanks, Mrs. Hudson. We will." John raised his hat and walked out the general store to met Sherlock by the hitching post. Sherlock was untying his horse's reins; John caught the tail-end of the other man sneaking a bit of corn bread into his mouth.

John cleared his throat and produced two small brown packages from his jacket. "Um, I bought you a knife. I noticed you don't carry a gun and if we're going to do this, then you need to carry some protection."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes but took the small package when John handed it over to him. He unwrapped it and held the small knife up in his hand. The knife was held in a intricate leather sheath and the handle had colorful Indian markings.

"What is this?"

John licked his lips as he unwrapped his own knife. John's heart was in his throat as he looked at.  _I can't believe I actually found them. A matching set of Natty Bumppo and Chingachgook knives._ A giddy bubble swelled in John's chest. For some reason, sharing it with Sherlock seemed right; seemed just the way it should be.

John tried to keep his face business like but it was almost impossible to keep the wide grin off of his face. "Just wear it." He said while undoing his belt and slipping the sheath onto it. John couldn't believe how unreal it felt. Going to The Velvet Whip no longer seemed like such an impossible task. How could it? He had an official Natty Bumppo knife!

Sherlock huffed but he undid his own belt to fix the knife sheath on it. The colors stood out against Sherlock's dark suit. Although when he buttoned his jacket, it would completely disappear.

Unable to contain himself any longer, John blurted out, "Do you recognize it?" John made a surprised sound. "Oh! Maybe they didn't have 'Leatherstocking Tales' in England. Have you at least heard of it?"

"What are you blathering about?" Sherlock saddled his horse.

"You know,  _The Deerslayer_?  _The Prairie?_ How about Natty Bumppo?" Some of John's excitement deflated. It wasn't as much fun if Sherlock had no idea what John had managed to find.

"Are you talking about Dime Novel rubbish? Don't be so plebeian, John. I accepted the knife because it will be useful if I need to threaten anyone at the brothel."

"That wasn't quite the way I had envisioned you using it. It's for protection; not to start a fight."

"Yes, yes. Just come on!" Sherlock explained, annoyed.

John chuckled and saddled his horse. Only after he placed the cane over his saddle did he realize he had gotten on Trigger without a single shoot of pain up his leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The knife set was totally my idea for the 'cosplay'. But this seems like something John would do :D


	8. Day Eight: Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you’re curious, White Gulch is near the NorthEastern tip of Montana, next to Wyoming and South Dakota. Researching two person card games was a pain in the ass. If I spelled ‘He-ya!’ wrong, let me know. (I couldn’t find it) 
> 
> Also, you shouldn’t smoke! Also Also, never hurt a horse! Sherlock is using a crop but he would never injure his horse.

As they rode out into the flat planes, John admired all the nature that surrounded him. New York and Montana were so vastly different from one another. Aside from the cities, the landscape that surrounded John made him breath in a bit deeper and the clatter in his brain was able to relax.

In the city, especially New York City, here had always been a endless pulse of activity and excitement; except it had never been for him. Now, there was still the excitement (Sherlock was providing plenty of that) and there wasn't the stifling busyness- it made John smile wider.  _I wonder what this would be like if Sherlock wasn't here?_ For some reason, John didn't like contemplating that answer. There was no White Gulch without Sherlock.

They arrived at 'The Velvet Whip' at dusk. The building was newer looking than most of the ones in White Gulch, and it was a beacon in the darkness. There were almost a dozen horses already tied up and it was bustling with business.

"Before we go in, we need to discuss your gambling addiction." Sherlock stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

John spluttered and nearly dropped his cane from his saddle. "What?!"

Sherlock eyed him and John nodded his head wearily. There was no point in denying it. He had had an issue with gambling before the war, but after it, it had blown up into a full addiction...that was one of the many reasons he had left the city. Small town, hopefully less temptation.

"I may need you to join me in the gambling area. However, I believe that if you 'entertain' one of the ladies, there should be no issues." Sherlock unsaddled his horse.

"You have got to be kidding me." John said as he got off Trigger. How could the man he had been kissing only hours before be asking him to sleep with one of the working girls?

"Just chat her up." Sherlock turned his head and smirked. "I know the fairer sex is more your area than it is mine."

John nodded, unable to deny the words. He couldn't say no to a pretty face of either gender. He just didn't want to ruin what ever might happen between he and Sherlock. "I just..." John floundered, he had no idea what words the situation warranted.

"Just keep her entertained with your wit." Sherlock bent in and placed a light kiss on John's temple.

John's face didn't know whether to smile or frown. He settled for knitting his brows together and upturning his lips slightly. "Well, just be safe."

"Yes, mother hen." Sherlock let out a laugh has he climbed the two stairs that led to the front entrance. He knocked twice and the door opened. The muffled noise from inside was let out and John could hear the sounds of a gambling and men getting progressively drunk.

A women with midnight black hair and ruby red lipstick walked up to Sherlock and placed a kiss on his cheek. "Sherlock, what a pleasant surprise." She reached for his hat and handed it to another girl. "And with a friend too." The woman turned to face John and a shiver ran up his spine.

"This is Doctor John and he would be interested in meeting one of your girls." Sherlock smiled and curled a hand around the woman's waist. John tried not to frown.  _This is just to find out about the robbery, that's all._ Still, it was difficult to remember that with blood red lips and a curvy body holding onto Sherlock.

A dirty blonde walked up to John and draped an arm over his shoulders. John gripped his cane tighter. "John, huh?"

"This is Sarah." She nuzzled into John's neck and he had to physically keep himself from pulling away. He had almost slept with a whore once and all it had done was fill him with sadness and unease. He had paid her twice her asking amount and had told her to stay away from the camps. She hadn't, but John was secure in the fact that he had tried to set her on the right path.

"Why don't we leave those two alone and he can show me how the stakes are tonight." With a ruff of skirts and lace, Sherlock and the woman were gone. John tried to not act too dumbfounded at the situation he found himself in.

"Um, you don't have to...um-" Sarah had taken him back to one of the rooms and proceeded to kiss a trail down his neck. He wanted to push her away but at the same time didn't want to ruin whatever Sherlock was doing. John groaned internally.  _Why couldn't he just let me stay at the apartment and sleep?_

"You're really not into this are you?" Sarah pulled away and crossed her arms.

John coughed awkwardly. "So, um, who was that that Sherlock left with?"

Sarah smirked. "That was Irene Adler. Are you more interested in her?"

John didn't know how to answer, so he chose not to and instead took a sit on a chair. After a moment, he shrugged his shoulders.

Sarah smirked and sat on the bed. She tilted her head and gave John an intense stare. "If you say so." Sarah paused for a minute and traced her hands over the sheets of the bed. "So, what brings you to 'The Velvet Whip'?"

John thumped his cane against the floor. "Honestly, I wanted to gamble but Sherlock thought that it would be better if I stayed away from the tables."

"Gambling man?" Sarah smirked and pulled a pulled a tattered deck of playing cards from the chest of drawers next to the bed.

"Why do you have-?" John raised an eyebrow in question.

"Sometimes the 'John' pulls the trigger quite quickly and they're not exactly keen on everyone knowing." Sarah explained as she pulled the cards out of the deck.

"I believe you might like poker, except the stakes are a little less high then you're used too." Sarah smiled as she shuffled the cards.

John fingers itched and he came to the realization that he was craving tobacco. He had usually only smoked when he had been gambling and the sound of shuffling cards brought the old urge back. He licked his lips and willed the craving away.

There was no visible clock in the room and John fought the urge to check his pocket watch. Sarah never mentioned the time, so John decided to keep playing until Sherlock arrived. They played poker, along with twenty-one and german whist.

"Have you ever met Moriarty?" John had no idea where the question came from but he had a feeling Sarah knew something important about the cattle rancher.

Sarah shivered as she looked at her cards. "He's got these dead eyes...although I suppose that's not the information you're looking for."

John nodded.

"He owns most of the cattle in the area and from what I understand, he owns most of the deeds in the town too." Sarah refused to look John in the eye. "He even owns the deed to this place but-"

There were sounds of shouting and John jerked his head up. "What the hell?"

The door was thrown open and Sherlock stood panting in the doorway. "Come along, John." Without another word, he stormed out the door. John jumped from the bed and ran after Sherlock.

There was more yelling and John understood the origin of the ruckus he had heard a moment before. "It seems we have over stayed our welcome." Sherlock grabbed his hat from a surprised girl as he ran for the front door.

John ran towards his horse only to discover it missing. "Where's Trigger?!"

"Use the gray horse! She's yours now!" Sherlock called as he straddled Lightning.

"What?!" Even though John was confused he still unhitched the horse.

"Let's just say I went 'shopping' for a horse while you entertained the lady." Sherlock called out as he whipped the horse with a crop on its hind quarters. Lightning lived up to the name John had given it as rider and horse took off in a deep gallop.

John laughed as he mounted his horse. John's head was swirling in a million different directions and he had no idea what was happening and he was loving ever minute of it.  _This is insane!_ John cried "He-ya!" as he dug his heels in and the horse chased after Sherlock.

The distance sound of shouting and cursing made John laugh even harder.


	9. Day Nine: Hanging out with Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Montana is still a territory in this story. There were also gold deposits found in its soil. I might inundate you with other random facts as I find them. If you want to know what lightning looks like, just think Jim West’s horse in ‘Wild West’.

John was breathless from laughing when they finally slowed down the horses to a steady trot. They had almost reached town, and John was still reeling from all that had happened...in one day. He looked over a Sherlock and smirked in the dim light. "Would you care to tell me what that was all about?"

Sherlock's mouth quirked up into a flash of a smile. "Irene was there at the bank. She and her girls staged the robbery, however they were not there for monetary gain in the form of money."

"The deed?" John nodded his head knowingly.

Sherlock let out a chuckle. "You and Sarah did have quite the chat, didn't you?"

"Actually, she volunteered most of the information. She seemed rather worried about it and was going to tell me more until you caused all that ruckus."

"As I stated before, people are not normally so receptive to my observation skills as you are. I got the information I came for and after that I told them all what I had wanted to state from the start. Thankfully, Irene is forgiving to the fact that many fights at 'The Velvet Whip' are caused by me.

"Putting that aside, Irene decided to 'acquire' the deed from the bank. However, one of the girls shot the deputy. Her name is Mary Morstan. I have never met her, but she was a new girl. Irene had her suspicions about her, it was a poor decision on her part to ignore her instincts. Miss. Morstan turned out to be in alliance with Moriarty. She shot the deputy in hopes that Irene would be arrested."

"Except no one has been arrested yet." John reached for his cane only discover it gone.  _Where did my...?_ He let out a surprised gasp.

"You'll find that you no longer require your cane, John." Sherlock said, his tone too nonchalant sounding.

John stretched his leg only to discover that it caused him no discomfort. "Well I'll be damned."

"Just make sure you do not relapse. I have a feeling we will not be welcome at that establishment anytime soon. Even if Irene is forgiving, the patrons are not." Sherlock let out a deep chuckle.

John couldn't keep a high pitched giggle from escaping his lips. He covered his mouth in embarrassment and tried to turn the unmanly giggle into a cough. "Why doesn't the Sheriff understand that the bank robbers were women?"

"The men in White Gulch are still too narrow minded. To them, a woman would never dress up as a man; let alone commit a crime. They wore men's clothing and bandana's over their faces. I believe Miss. Morstan dropped the butt in the hopes that the Sheriff would find it and make a jump in logic. She was too naive to put so much trust in their ability to connect the seemingly obvious."

"Yes, shame." John said sarcastically.

"I believe Miss. Morstan acted on her own with the cigarette because if Moran would have known of it, he would not have sent out some of his men to threaten me."

They reached the Saloon and got off their horses. John patted his new horse's side affectionately. "There's a good girl, Pathfinder."

Sherlock gave a disgusted sigh as he tied up his horse. John smirked. "Do you want to know what I named your horse?"

"I am sure it is something completely plebeian." Sherlock finished tying the reins on the hitching post.

"Fine. I'll just see if you can deduce it." John laughed.

Sherlock's face soured. "Really John."

"What did you mean by 'shopping' when you mentioned Pathfinder?" John asked as he petted the horses snout. She was so soft and a fine creature. He couldn't remember the last time that a horse had been his own. Just looking at her filled John with pride. He would have to purchase grooming tools from Mrs. Hudson.

"As we entered 'The Velvet Whip', I took an inventory of all the horses. I then deducted its owner and bet the man until he had no remaining money. I proposed that he use his horse as collateral for the next game. He was foolish enough to believe that his losing streak would some how not hold up...that was when the 'ruckus' began." Sherlock said as they entered the Saloon.

John's eyes danced with glee. Oh, he had definitely made the right decision when he had came to White Gulch.

There was a lone piano playing in the saloon. The tables were mostly full and many tipped their hat as Sherlock and John passed. They couldn't ignore the proprietor in his own bar, even if they didn't like him. A mousy haired girl smiled at them from behind the bar. "Sherlock! The usual?"

"Yes, and one for John as well." Sherlock walked up and placed his hat on the bar. John eyed him for a minute and didn't have to ask if it was obvious about his family's drinking problems. John stopped himself from shaking his head in shame; he had never really thought about all the vices his family indulged in.

The girl returned, she looked barely over eighteen, and handed John a shot glass of warm whiskey. It burned going down and it was fantastic. John licked his lips trying to get every drop.

"Who might you be?" She said with a smile and leaned in closer.

"The name's John H. Watson, ma'am. I'm the new town doctor and deputy." He gave a quick nod.

"Oh, pleasure. Mike! Mike! It's the new Doctor!" The girl cupped her hand and called out to her left. "How rude of me. I'm Molly Hooper. The local bartender, although I second as the entertainment occasionally."

"She can also do lovely work with a corpse." Sherlock added.

Molly blushed. "Well, I-"

A man came up behind John and thumped him on the back. John hissed as the stranger's hand came too close to the knot of scar tissue on his shoulder. He gulped down his other shot of whiskey.

"You're the new doctor, huh?" The man extended his hand and gave John a warm smile. "Micheal Stamford. Just call me Mike. It's a pleasure. I thought I would met you earlier. Imagine my surprise when I found out you were out gallivanting around with Sherlock!"

John opened his mouth to offer some sort of excuse but he didn't have one. He didn't really have anything to say to defend what he had done. The liqueur felt thick in his throat. "I-um..."

Mike let out a roar of a laugh and thumped John on the back again. This time he couldn't hold back the cringe. "No worries, partner. It was a couple of sniffy noses at best. White Gulch is still just a sleepy outlaying town. If Sherlock needs you, then don't worry about it. I can handle the workload for now."

John turned to Sherlock and raised an eyebrow. Sherlock ignored it and looked past him at Mike. "Let me buy you a drink."

"Let it never be said that I looked a horse in the mouth! Molly, a shot of your best whiskey." He raised his beer and polished it off. He thudded the empty glass on the bar and let out a loud belch.

John shook his head. It was obvious the man was almost drunk. How had he missed it?  _Because you're still trying to put together everything else that has happened._ Before John could gather his thoughts, another man approached them. Accept this one was met with a cold glare from Sherlock.

"Mr. Anderson." Sherlock didn't even try and hid the distain in his voice.

The other man didn't greet Sherlock and instead turned to John. "What did he have to do to you to make you tag along on his wild goose chase?"

John frowned. "Nothing. I volunteered." It might not be the complete truth (or anywhere  _near_ the truth) but Anderson looked like a rat and John had a feeling that even if he got to the know the man, he still wouldn't like him.

This made Anderson sneer. He looked at John like he didn't believe the words coming out his mouth were his own. "If you say so. Just know being 'friends' with riffraff like him won't make you a town favorite."

John fought the urge to strike the man. He was talking like Sherlock wasn't sitting a foot behind him. John tightened his hand into a fist and pursed his lips. "I'll kindly have you know, I can make my own decisions about whom I deem worthy to be my friends."

Anderson scoffed. "If you say so. Just know it's best to understand where your loyalties lie in White Gulch." He turned and dissolved into the crowd.

The silence was awkward between them and John finally spoke up. "I've never met such an coot in all my life. Miss. Hooper, might I have some water?"

She nodded and walked away. John turned to tell Sherlock that he didn't believe a word that Mr. Anderson had said. John almost forgot to breath at the look of pleased shock written all over Sherlock's face. He almost looked a if he was blushing.

It made John feel as if he had just defended a young maiden's honor. Mr. Anderson's rude words dissolved into nothingness and John enjoyed the rest of the evening with his new friends.


	10. Day Ten: With Animal Ears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The John in this fanfic will drink more coffee than tea. I feel like that holds more to the era. I want you to know I made myself hungry writing John eating breakfast. God, I wish Japan had breakfast restaurants like IHOP.

John breathed in deeply. The smell of the sheets were all wrong and John rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. As the fog of sleep lifted, he remembered it was his first night at the new apartment. He pulled the sheet a little higher, unwilling to wake up.

After leaving the Saloon, Sherlock had said he had work to complete and had left John on his own to make his way up to their shared rooms. He had missed Sherlock the moment the man turned his back. John was more than surprised at the pang of loneliness that crept up over him.

He had stayed up unpacking and trying to convince himself that it wasn't because he wanted Sherlock home before he fell asleep. Finally, when he had started to doze standing up, John made his way reluctantly to the staircase and up to his room.

John had fallen asleep the moment his head had hit the pillow. If Sherlock had come back, he hadn't heard it. Flopping over, John let out a long sigh. He threw back the thin sheet and sat up, stretching his arms over his head. It was only the crack of dawn and the town was still coated in silence.

The small room around him was perfect for his needs, but it was still too much in disarray to feel like 'his' room. His few possessions were scattered along every available surface. Mostly he had brought medical books and every journal he had kept during the War. It wasn't pleasant to reread about the horror he had seen, but he had jotted down notes that needed their own separate journal.

Getting out of bed, John reached to remove his nightshirt. His fingers stopped as they bunched the fabric near his armpits. Letting out a yawn, John let the thought pass and continued to take off his nightshirt. He went through the actions of dressing and he only started to wake up after he had tied Sherlock's bandana around his neck. He ran his fingers over the smooth material and smiled.

Making his way downstairs into the main sitting room, John sweep his view around and took in the prone figure on the settee. Soft snores were emanating from Sherlock and John shook his head at the awkward angle of his neck. John's eyes softened and he allowed his gaze to linger. Glossing his tongue over his top teeth, John contemplated bending down and kissing him.

Before he could give it a second thought, he bend down a placed a kiss on Sherlock's forehead. The sleeping man's skin tasted lightly of salt and John's tongue darted out to take the taste from his lips. Realizing that one kiss would never be enough, John plodded over to the kitchen to make some coffee before he did something he might regret.

He lit the stove and placed a kettle full of water over the burner. John searched through some of the containers and finally found one that looked like it held coffee. He took a deep whiff and almost gagged.  _That's not coffee!_ The more John explored the kitchen, the more it seemed like it wasn't a kitchen at all. They would have to have a serious talk when Sherlock woke up. Finally, one of the canisters contained something that both looked and smelled like coffee.

John was lost in memory as the water boiled. There had been a lack of coffee on both sides and the 'coffee' he had drunk during the War had been atrocious. His skin crawled at the memory of the food he had had to eat and the beverages they had called coffee.

As he roasted the beans, he hummed happily to himself. It was nice to have real coffee but even nicer to have someone to share it with. John didn't bother to check the cabinets food; he was sure he wouldn't find anything remotely edible. Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson's cooking had been rich and heavy and it still managed to keep John's stomach from gnawing at itself.

The beans turned a pleasant brown and the water began to boil. John brought down two tin cups and finished making the coffee for him and Sherlock. His eyes scanned the kitchen for sugar but when he didn't spot any, John just shrugged his shoulders and added it to his list of things to buy.

"Ah, what a wonderful smell to wake up too. You actually found the coffee." A smirk danced on Sherlock's lips as he reached for the coffee.

"Good morning to you too." He handed Sherlock his cup and John enjoyed the way their fingers brushed together.

John stretched out his toes as he sat down and took his first drink of coffee. It wasn't half-bad.

"Since you've already decided to do the shopping, I would like you to give this list to Mrs. Hudson. I need her to order more chemicals. Just give her the list, she knows what to do with it." Sherlock reached into his trouser's pocket and tossed a balled up piece of paper to John.

He caught it and put down his coffee to open the battered piece of paper. John could barely read the scrawled handwriting; ink blots were littered all over it. "Will she be able to read this?" He could barely read it and he was a doctor.

Sherlock waved his hand in answer as he took another sip of coffee. "Yes, yes. Not to worry."

"What do you plan on doing while I take care of the truly exciting work?" John finished the last of his coffee and instantly wanted another cup.

"You can always join me in the lab after you've gotten the food stuff you so desperately need. I, on the other hand, have urge work that needs to be done before I go out to the Moriarty ranch." Sherlock put his cup on the floor and steepled his hands under his chin.

"You have some ideas then?"

"Don't be obvious, John. I need to work out my theories before I reach any conclusions. It is fools work to theorize without the necessary information." Sherlock closed his eyes. John supposed that meant it was the ending of their conversation.

John stood up and reached for Sherlock's empty cup. "Take my wallet, it's in my jacket. Also, you missed earlier."

A blush creeped up over John's cheeks and his ears turned a soft pink. He bent down and pressed his lips to Sherlock's own slightly open ones. The taste of coffee still lingered on them and for a split second, John took Sherlock's lower lip in between his own and sucked.

Before the kiss could deepen, he pulled away. Sherlock hummed in contentment. John's mouth tugged up and he let out a happy huff.

The sun was already up in the sky as John made his way back to Mrs. Hudson's general store. John hoped she would have a hearty breakfast waiting for anyone who wanted to order it. He tied up Pathfinder and jumped up the two small steps to the store. John was still shocked that no pain shot up his leg. Only a week before, jumping up a few stairs would have been impossible.  _I have no idea what Sherlock did but I hope he keeps doing it._

The bell tinkled as he opened the door. "Mrs. Hudson!"

Mrs. Hudson's voice called back. "Over here dearie!"

John's nose was assaulted with the smells of corn bread, eggs and sizzling sausage. John's stomach let out a grumble at the heavy scent and his saliva glands started to kick into high gear.

He walked into the small back room where Mrs. Hudson had her small kitchen and table. John took his hat off and hung it on the hatstand before taking the same chair he had sat in the day before. He flicked open a napkin and laid it on his lap.

"I knew Sherlock would have nothing to eat in that flat of his, so I made some extra for you Doctor. I hope you brought your appetite." Mrs. Hudson winked and started to spoon food onto a plate.

John could barely get out a thank you before he started to shovel the delicious food down. Every bite was better than the last. It was better than the cooking their servants had made in New York and John wished they could have had a thousand Mrs. Hudson's working for them in the camps.

"I can't even tell you how much I appreciate is beyond heavenly, Mrs. Hudson." He was tempted to bring the plate up to his mouth and lick it. Instead, John asked for seconds. Mrs. Hudson laughed and cut off another chunk of corn bread.

"I wish Sherlock would eat like you. Men need an appetite and Sherlock eats like a blossoming girl at her coming out party." Mrs. Hudson smiled widely.

John wasn't sure how to answer, so he just took a bite of warm corn bread. Finished with his second helping, John patted his stomach contently. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten so well.  _Well, aside from the other day._  "Oh, Sherlock gave me this list of chemicals. He said you would know what to do with it." He took the list out of his pocket and handed it to Mrs. Hudson.

"Just the usual I see...all except that one." Mrs. Hudson hummed to herself as she stuffed the list into her apron. John didn't bother asking.

"What will you be needing, Doctor? No, pig ears to be sure."

"What?" John nearly dropped his cup in surprise. "Pig's ears?"

"Yes, and some other parts of random animals. Many of the town's folk didn't take to kindly to Sherlock wanting to use their dearly departed love ones for his work." Mrs. Hudson's tone was sad. "No one ever understands him."

John cleared his throat. "Yes..."

John was trying his damnedest to understand the marvel of a man. And every moment that he had thought he had figured a part of him out, something changed and surprised him. Sherlock had more layers than anyone he had ever met and John hoped that somewhere there would be room for him.

Even if it meant parts of animals...Hell, even if it meant parts of people, it wouldn't detour him.  _As long as those body parts were gotten with legal means._ Although he would have to set some rules about the kitchen; he was only human after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please know that I haven't forgotten my other fanfics. I just get off on another tangent on occasion but I will finish everything. Just be patient with me :D 
> 
> I appreciate all the comments and kudos! You all make writing worth it!


	11. Day Eleven: Wearing Kigurumi(s) aka White Sheet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I’m not going to lie, I don’t have an ideas for Sherlock or John in a kigurumi. So, therefore, I’m going to give you Sherlock in his infamous white sheet. Does that make it better? John carries a Colt Army Model 1860.

John smacked his lips with satisfaction.  _Why should I bother buying anything other than sugar and more coffee? From now on, I'm only eating Mrs. Hudson's cooking! God, I don't think I could stomach my own cooking anymore after this!_ John was opening his mouth to tell Mrs. Hudson his thoughts when the bell tingled, signaling a customer.

"Coming!" Mrs. Hudson walked out into the main store. John continued to munch away happily until he heard a distressed gasp from the Mrs. Hudson. Jumping up from his chair, his napkin fell to the floor and John set his jaw. He didn't want any trouble, but if someone had came to bother Mrs. Hudson than they were going to encounter a surprise.

"Any problems, Mrs. Hudson?" John squared his shoulders, his voice thick with command.

"Oh, Doctor," Mrs. Hudson turned to him and her eyes were full of fear. "There's no problem. Please, don't worry about us."

John narrowed his eyes at the man who was standing behind Mrs. Hudson. He had blonde hair and a scar ran along his left eye. His features were cold and that was enough to set John in full protect mode. It didn't matter what the older woman said, the stranger needed to leave- _now._ And if he had a problem with it, John would throw him out.

"Hello. I'm the doctor and the town deputy, John Watson. And who might you be?" John extended his hand out.

"Sebastian Moran." Moran took the hand and shook it with unnecessary pressure.

John answered in kind and made sure the man before him knew he meant business. John H. Watson wouldn't be intimidated by a man who frightened women.

"What might be your business there with Mrs. Hudson?" John kept his tone light but he never took his eyes from Moran's face.

Moran smiled and it twisted his lip to making his face even more menacing. "I believe, Doctor, that you have no say in what transpires between the lady and myself. However, I have made my point and therefore shall be on my way."

Even though Moran's clothes were dusty and he looked like a ranch hand, the man spoke like he was a gentlemen calling on a lady friend. It set John's nerves on edge and he fought the urge to bare his teeth and growl at the man.

Moran sniffed and he placed his hand on the pistol at his hip. John recognized a threat when he saw one.  _God damn it! Why did I leave my piece at home?!_ The first thing he was going to do was put his colt back at its rightful place in his hip holster. White Gulch wasn't as sleepy as he had once thought and it was time John prepared for that.

"Well, I wouldn't want any trouble to start, so I'll be off. Don't forget what I told you ma'am." Moran tipped his hat and made his way out the shop.

John put his arm over Mrs. Hudson's shoulders and he could feel the woman shaking. She didn't let out a soft cry until Moran's figure disappeared. "It's all right now. I won't let him threaten you, Mrs. Hudson." John waited until her shaking stopped until he asked, "What did that man tell you, Mrs. Hudson?"

Mrs. Hudson shook her head and sniffed. "Oh, Doctor. They've never been so bold before. I mean, Mr. Moran has 'visited' before, but he's never been so...so..." She swallowed hard and reached for a handkerchief.

"Yes, yes." John held Mrs. Hudson to him and she clutched his shirt, ruffling it.

She sniffed loudly and blotted at her eyes. "Please, don't tell Sherlock. I don't want him to be hurt...you either, Dr. Watson."

John worried at his bottom lip. "I can't promise you that. You know he'll see it on me." John had a feeling Sherlock would only have to gloss an eye over him to know something was wrong. How could he not? The short encounter had changed his entire mood and peaked his curiosity even more about what was happening in White Gulch.

"I know. Just be careful." Mrs. Hudson gently pushed herself away and pursed her lips. "Mr. Moriarty and his men have always been a hold over this town. Except, they've never actually  _done_ anything about it. Threaten any of us, I mean. While it is true that he holds most of the deeds to the buildings in White Gulch...Oh, Doctor, he controls so much more."

John nodded. "Are you going to be all right? I should get back to Sherlock."

"Yes, of course you do." Mrs. Hudson went to the back room and came back with a small bundle. "Here, give this to Sherlock. He seems to eat a trifle more when you're the one trying to feed him.

"Thank you. And if you need anything, and I mean  _anything_ contact either me or the Sheriff. Can you promise me that?"

"Yes, thank you Doctor." She smiled weakly.

John nodded and made his way out of the general store. He untied Pathfinder and fought the urge to ride her hard back to their apartments. However, drawing attention to them wouldn't help, so John kept his face impassive and nodded to every person who tipped their hat.

He contemplated telling Sheriff Lestrade and then decided against it. Even if he told the Sheriff, John had a suspicion that he couldn't do anything about it anyway. No, it was better to wait and discuss it with Sherlock.

After giving Pathfinder breakfast, John made his way back up into the second story rooms. He bound up the stairs, a frantic ball of energy. The day seemed as if was going to be just as exciting as the day before; anticipation made John's heart beat faster.

"Sherlock, I- What the hell are you wearing?!" John stopped half-way across the sitting room at the sight of Sherlock in a white sheet...and from the look of it, only a sheet.

He was sitting cross legged on the floor pouring over paperwork that was spewed all over the room. "Ah, John! You've returned. I was just, stop giving me that look!" Sherlock rolled his eyes and threw some papers behind him. "I was conducting an experiment and some chemicals got on my clothes. I did not feel the need to change until you returned."

John tried to form a coherent thought, but everything was jumbled up. Instead, he took the handkerchief with corn bread wrapped in it and tossed it at Sherlock. The man on the floor caught the small bundle and turned it around in his hand. "More food? Are you trying to fatten me up like a Christmas turkey?"

John walked back and took his coat and hat off, hanging them on the coatrack. "Compliments of Mrs. Hudson. I highly doubt a few bites of it will do you any harm."

Sherlock opened the handkerchief and nibbled at the corn bread. "Too much butter as usual. Now come here and see what I've been doing."

John walked over and sat down next to Sherlock. "Yes, you have been busy."

"There's something just under the surface. I have reason to believe that all these recent events are culminating to a grand finale." Sherlock smiled wickedly. He placed a finger over his lips.

"Yes, well, I have a feeling Mrs. Hudson might think differently on that topic. Mr. Moran was at the shop threatening her. She wouldn't tell me the details but I don't like it one bit. Do you know what it could be about?"

Sherlock moved his finger up to his nose and tapped the tip of it lightly. "A mere thread in Moriarty's web. His fingers extend much farther than I would have ever thought. Oh, this is exciting."

"Sherlock! Mrs. Hudson was scared half to death! Have you no feelings?" John couldn't believe that isn't of looking dismayed for Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock looked enraptured at the fact.  _You were behaving just the same a moment ago._ A shameful blush crept up John's neck.

"John, naturally what happens to Mrs. Hudson matters to me. However, wallowing in pity for her will do nothing to help the situation." Sherlock accented his words with more flying papers.

"You're going to figure this out, aren't you?" John's body still hummed with energy but his bones felt tired. He was ready to fight again, and for people who needed him; however, it seemed that it wasn't he who would be rescuing anyone. John hated depending on other people but in this case, it appeared that he had no say in the matter.

Sherlock stopped tossing around papers and turned his piercing gaze to John. " _We_ are going to figure this out. Together."

John's tongue was thick in his mouth and swallowing became difficult. "Together?"


	12. Day Twelve: Making Out

"Naturally, together." Sherlock knit his brows together. "I have not read you incorrectly." There was slight uncertainty in the statement even though he tried to sound overconfident.

"Of course. I'm here to be used." John's ears turned pink and he licked his lips.  _Please have me._ Although John was pretty sure that he didn't mean it completely in the sense of the case. He really wanted Sherlock to accept him as a person- gain his respect and trust. John could already tell that that was rare for Sherlock and it was hardly ever bestowed upon anyone.

"John. Do you really have to say that? Are not all the facts obviously pointing in the same direction?" Sherlock frowned lightly. He seemed annoyed to be the only one seeing what must be written all over ever action he had done since they had met.  _I do not going around kissing every man I share rooms with._ It practically yelled at him.

John fought the urge to slap his hand against his forehead. Normally, he would try to read  _too much_ into a situation. Now he hadn't seen enough and it all collimated to one conclusion- Sherlock wanted him just as bad. They may have not worked out everything yet, however the physical attraction was undeniable.

John leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sherlock's surprised ones. Sherlock recovered quickly and one of hands reached out to pull John closer. John crawled on his knees until they knocked up against Sherlock's crossed legs. Suddenly lips weren't enough and John's hands sought out the other man.

Their first kiss had been chaste and their second had been friendly. Their third was a combination of the first two that swiftly morphed into something new. Sherlock's teeth clashed against John's as he tried to tilt his head to deepen the kiss. John brought his hand up to Sherlock's neck and was surprised to feel skin. WIth a blush, he remembered that the other man was only wrapped in a sheet.

John's tongue dipped in farther and made sure that every part of Sherlock's mouth had been tasted with it. Sherlock was also busy with his hands- John could feel them pressing up against his front and undo the first few buttons of his shirt.

John let out a low groan as he shifted, trying to get closer. Sherlock let out a frustrated sound and grabbed John by his upper arm. He gently prodded the man into his lap. John tried not think about the erection that was happily pressing up against his ass. The sheet had begun to fall and John's hand worked its way down to brush through the small patch of dark hair in the middle of Sherlock's chest. John fought with the urge between wanting to keep kissing Sherlock and to catch a peek at the pale chest now bared.

John could feel Sherlock's heart beating and he didn't have to time the beats to tell it was accelerated. The conformation thrilled John and he coaxed Sherlock's tongue with his own. He pulled back slightly so that he could nip at Sherlock's lower lip. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and ran a hand up into the hair at the nape of his neck.

Their mouths clashed back and forth as John pulled back slightly, he sucked at Sherlock lips and tongue. Sherlock groaned low and thrust his hips up lightly to grind against John's ass. John rocked across Sherlock's lap and the need to have his own erection touched was overwhelming.

As was becoming a natural state, Sherlock was a mind reader. His hand traveled down and it pressed up along John's caged cock. John wasn't sure how far they were suppose to being taking it, but he was fairly certain that if they didn't stop soon, he wouldn't be able to stop until one of them was fucking the other. John's cock twitched at the thought of it. He had spent more time staring at Sherlock's ass than he should have and if it looked half as good than he did clothed, than Sherlock was in for a ride.

"Are you in there? Mr. Holmes? Dr. Watson?" There came another pounding at the front door. John cursed and continued to bit at Sherlock's swollen lips.  _Whoever it is, they're just going to have to wait._ Nothing mattered in that moment than the man who was getting under his skin like no one else ever had before.

"John, as much as I would love to agree with you, I need to get that." Sherlock gasped out in between kisses. John growled and bit down on Sherlock's lip one last time. Now that he had started, John's possessive side was in full force.

"Fine, but we're not done yet." He scooted out of Sherlock's lap not wanting to stand up.

"I will hold you to that promise." Sherlock eyes were hazy and it made John want to pull him down into another hard kiss. "I'll be there in a moment!"

The knocking at the door finally stopped. John figured he could get the door but he needed a moment to calm the roaring in his ears. His cock ached and trying to get his erection to go away was going to take a few minutes. He closed his eyes and recited all the bones in the body.

Sherlock finally walked out his bedroom with his hair sleeked back and grey suit. He had poured water over his head and John smirked. Even though he had only been in his bedroom for a few minutes, his suit looked impeccable and John wondered if the man could ever look ruffled.  _Wait a minute. Why didn't he just change earlier?_ John turned crimson and ducked his head as Sherlock opened the door.  _Of course the lunatic would wait around in a sheet till I came back._

"Oh, Mr. Holmes." Molly was pale and she clutched her parasol in her hands. "It's so awful. I spoke with Mrs. Hudson and she's so worried about what her husband may do. I think Mr. Moriarty might be serious this time. After the bank robber and everything I just..."

Sherlock put up his hand to stop Molly's rambling. "Please, come in. Sit down. John was just going to make some tea." Sherlock eyed John and he got up from his position on the floor. John hoped that Molly was too busy worrying about her own problems to wonder why he had been sitting on the floor.

Sherlock let Molly through the sea of scattered papers and sat her down on John's chair.

John had never poured water into a kettle or lit the stove as fast as he did to get back to hear what Molly had to say.

"...I just don't know what to do!" Molly held in a sob but her face was steadily getting paler. "I can't believe I almost married that  _monster_!" She spat out the last word with more venom than John would have ever thought the petit girl capable of.

Sherlock's hands were steepled under his chin and he had closed his eyes. John put a smoothing hand of Molly's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. She sniffled and dabbed her eyes.

"Molly, I need you to look after the doctor for awhile." Sherlock opened his eyes but they still looked as if they were somewhere else.

"Sherlock, whatever you plan on doing, I'm going with you." The kettle began to whistle and John cursed. He walked quickly back into the kitchen and took the kettle off. He didn't bother to get any cups and instead went back to the sitting room.

Sherlock was standing up and patting down his suit. "John, you are to stay with Molly." There was finality in Sherlock's voice. John knew it wasn't open for discussion, but it didn't make accepting the situation any easier.

"Fine. Just stay safe." It hurt every fiber in John to let Sherlock go alone but the man had to have his reasons and John was going to respect them. But when Sherlock got back they were going to need to have a serious conversation about that their new partnership...friendship...whatever the hell it was going on between them and what it meant.

Molly stood up. "Yes, I'll feel more comfortable having him at the Saloon with me." She gave him a weak smile and John did his best to return it.

John turned his head back to Sherlock. "Just bring that knife with you, okay?"

Sherlock nodded and patted his hip. He already had it with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have Molly answering a lot of questions about the town! :D 
> 
> The whole gang will be here >


End file.
